


Muddied Waters

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (ish?), Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Denial, Drug Use, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Outdoor Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Semi-Public Sex, Shotgunning, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:43:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9551525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Robb always feels so guilty whenever he does anything – or even wants to do anything – he thinks he shouldn't. Even if it's not really hurting anyone, like being out here in the middle of the rugby field after curfew.Theonlovesmaking Robb do things he knows he shouldn't.





	

It's starting to rain. Hardly been a day the past five years it hasn't rained up here, and Theon knows they should move, lying out in the field like this, they're already filthy and are only going to get more so if they stay while the dirt turns into mud, but Theon can't bring himself to. When he looks, it seems like Robb can't either. The game was over hours ago and yet Robb still looks exhausted, panting slightly as he sinks into the earth, pretty grey rugby jersey and white shorts covered with ugly brown mud. It makes Theon think of the Robb he met on his first day here, the awkward, gangly, shy twelve-year-old with overgrown curls and a smile that could blind you it was so white, and he cannot understand why a memory so sweet is so painful.

“Theon,” Robb says and Theon can't help but watch as the rain hits him, droplets collecting in his pretty red hair, and starting to soak through those white shorts so Theon can see outlines of things he probably shouldn't want to see, but he's still a teenage boy and– “Theon, should we go back inside?”

“Do you want to?”

A pause. “...No,” says Robb, avoiding his eye. Robb always feels so guilty whenever he does anything – or even wants to do anything – he thinks he shouldn't. Even if it's not really hurting anyone, like being out here in the middle of the rugby field after curfew.

Theon _loves_ making Robb do things he knows he shouldn't.

“Fine then. We won't.” He'll bitch Robb out for getting him so dirty in the morning, but for now, he wants to stay. He's got plans. He reaches for his pocket, pulling out a lighter and a joint, and clicks the trigger as loud as he can to get Robb's attention. Robb watches as Theon purses his lips around the end – perhaps a little too much – and takes a long, lingering drag. He smirks, blowing smoke in Robb's face, and then offers the joint to him.

Robb grimaces. “You know I don't smoke.”

“Not tobacco, anyway,” he laughs as Robb flinches a little, and he takes another drag and blows it right at Robb. Marijuana is another one of those things Robb knows he shouldn't do, but he does anyway. Theon should probably feel bad, giving Robb drugs and taking advantage of him like that, but the way he sees it _that's_ the real Robb, the giggling, flushing (squirming, mewling, begging) kid that comes out when the smoke chases away all the standards and pressures he keeps himself shackled by every day. Robb needs to relax somehow, and maybe he should just take up smoking like a normal person, but his mother always hated it and so he promised her he never would. Dope is something she'd never have thought of though, so Robb can do that without technically breaking his word. He's good at those little rationalisations, is Robb.

Theon doesn't really bother.

Robb stares as Theon takes another drag, tempted, Theon knows he's tempted, but not enough to do anything yet. Sometimes Robb, perfect precious Robb, captain of the rugby team, dux of their year, full scholarship to Oxford, needs someone to make the choice for him.

Theon takes one more drag and purses his lips together, eyeing Robb with a raised eyebrow. Robb stares right back, and Theon takes it for what it is – a challenge. A dare.

With his spare hand, he grabs Robb by that lovely red hair of his, and brings their mouths together.

Robb sighs as the smoke from Theon's lungs fills his mouth, and Theon's eager to climb on top of him, get more contact, starting grinding Robb into the mud. He's already half-hard, but luckily Robb's always been easy to please, it doesn't take a lot of friction before he's hardening too, licking into Theon's mouth and sucking at his lips like he can't get enough. As Theon buries his hand in Robb's curls, he can feel how much dirt is caked in there, but it doesn't seem to matter at the moment. Perfect little Robb Stark is getting filthy for him, right in the middle of the rugby field where anyone could find them. Maybe it does matter.

Theon pulls back and sees Robb shivering, and he's not sure if that's thanks to him or the rain but he's willing to credit it to himself.

He raises the joint back to his lips and sucks, hollowing his cheeks out obscenely. That makes Robb giggle, which wasn't quite the reaction he was going for. He takes a little too much, until he almost coughs the smoke up. But he holds on, and Robb rolls his eyes. “Give that here.”

Theon grins as he passes the marijuana over, blowing smoke in Robb's face as little Robb takes his own mouthful, which he doesn't blow back, he just lets go for Theon to watch it dissipate in the air. Perhaps a little disappointed, Theon pushes himself up with one hand and with the other, etches teasing circles around Robb's nipple through the rain-soaked jersey.

Robb groans and squirms a little, only covering himself with more mud. “Are you going to lie there all day, or are you actually going to touch me?” he asks.

Theon laughs. “Patience, sweetheart,” he says and Robb giggles again. _Where did my shy little boy go?_ he wonders, but he likes this Robb almost as much. He snatches the joint out of Robb's hand and takes another long drag, before grabbing Robb's hair with his free hand and smashing their mouths together, grinding himself down onto Robb's cock, fully hard now despite the effect of the drugs, and Robb's mouth tastes of pot and marmite, he must not have eaten since breakfast, he's always forgetting to eat, and Theon fucking hates marmite except when he's tasting it out of Robb's mouth, because whatever's in Robb's mouth is the most intoxicating thing in the world and Theon lets the joint fall out of his hand, lets it go out in a puddle of mud and he knows what a fucking waste that was but it doesn't seem to matter, not with something far more potent writhing beneath him.

With his now-free hand, he starts trying to get Robb's shorts off but his weight is pinning the boy too firmly to the ground for that, so instead he just sticks his hand down them and wraps it tight around Robb's cock instead. Robb gasps almost like it hurts, but he doesn't ask Theon to stop, no he bucks up into his grip desperately. Theon breaks the kiss and chuckles against Robb's throat. The stretchy fabric of the shorts rubs against Theon's hand as he starts to wank Robb off, and he realises – Robb's not wearing underwear. The thought takes his breath away, just for a second. He doesn't think the boy's had any time to change, so he must have been like that all day, during the game, while he was being tackled to the ground by fifteen blokes. _Filthy slut._ Jealousy and arousal stir in Theon in equal measures, and he wonders who Robb's doing it for, for him, or for some other man, or for himself, probably.

(Or maybe they've just forgotten to do their washing again.)

Theon wants to say something about it, some snide, teasing – but always fond – remark that will make Robb blush and stutter, but he realises it's not worth it, he doesn't want to push too far, not when he has plans. Instead he pumps Robb tighter and faster, listens to him moan so loud he almost drowns out the noise of the rain pounding around them, and leans up to nip at his ear. “Robb,” he whispers, his weight the only thing keeping the boy from arching right off the ground, “Robb, let me fuck you.”

They've not done that yet. Robb just gasps and moans in Theon's ear, but Theon can't be entirely sure the boy heard him. Maybe it would be easier to get him to agree back in their room, warm and clean on one of their too-narrow beds, but no, Theon wants it like this – out on the rugby field where Robb's won the school all those trophies, made everyone so proud of him, where everyone could watch if they wanted. In the middle of the thunderstorm. Robb simply mewls as Theon wanks him harder, and then Theon's confidence starts to waver. “Please, Robb,” slips out of his mouth. “Please let me fuck you.”

Theon hates the sound of it, him begging like that. _He should be begging me._ But then Robb gasps again and his eyes roll back in his head, they flicker shut and he hisses “ _Yes._ ”

So it's worth it.

“Fuck,” Theon mutters and starts fumbling for his pocket, pulling out a tube of petroleum jelly he nicked off the school nurse while she wasn't looking – he hates that fucking nurse, though he knows he shouldn't, since she's never been anything but gracious to him no matter how many times he's gotten himself beaten up, and also she's not half-bad to look at (Theon's never minded a bit of exotic) – and applying it to his fingers. It's cool, but not as cold as the rain currently chilling him to the bone.

“Theon,” Robb says, still squirming underneath, “shouldn't you take my shorts off first?”

Right. Theon was probably an idiot for not thinking of that first, but he's not going to give that away, instead he sighs like this is some burden on him somehow – and then Robb arches his hips so Theon can get them off, thinking how Robb looks when he moves like that because he wants _more._

“No knickers, pet?” he asks as Robb's red, leaking cock springs unbidden from his shorts, and Robb flushes and gives Theon a half-hearted slap on his forearm, but says nothing. Theon wonders if Robb would have been so quick to agree if Theon hadn't given him drugs first, but it's not like marijuana even does much of anything, and he's had as much as Robb has, and besides, Robb's always wanted it. He just needs a little encouragement.

Theon's never been a patient man, so he tugs the shorts roughly down to Robb's knees, then bends him in half to get at that perfect arse. Robb gasps in shock, but Theon knows he's flexible. He has to open the tube again, what was on his fingers having worn off in the rain and on Robb's shorts, and he'd feel guilty about that but they were already filthy.

Once his fingers are slick enough he wants to just stick them in quickly, because if he doesn't the rain's only going to wash it away again, but when he pushes his middle finger against Robb's hole the boy suddenly seizes up. “Theon,” he gasps, perhaps thinking better of this.

Theon can't let that happen. “Shh, it's okay baby, it's okay,” he says, leaning down to press soft, suckling kisses along the length of Robb's neck, net yet fierce enough to bruise. “You're going to like it, I promise you'll like it.”

He circles Robb's entrance with one finger until he feels the boy shudder in pleasure, and the tension leave his body, carried away with the water dripping from him. “That's my boy,” Theon murmurs, before slowly pushing one finger in.

Robb gasps again as he does it, but he's not sure if that's pain or pleasure, and from what he remembers it might be a little of both. Theon's not heartless, he did try this on himself first to see if it would hurt too much, if Robb could take it. It wasn't too bad, and Theon wound up enjoying it a bit. Enjoying it enough he wondered if he might rather do it the other way around, let himself be taken by Robb, be the first one he ever took, but Theon knows he's not that brave. Luckily, Robb is.

He doesn't stop, not until his finger is buried down to the knuckle and Robb is moaning and squirming against him. “Tell me when it feels good,” Theon murmurs against his skin as he crooks and wiggles his finger inside, and, he's happy to say, it doesn't take long.

Robb gasps and suddenly pulls at Theon's hair. “There,” he says, breathless, knees almost knocking against Theon's chin.

“There?” Theon rubs that spot inside Robb harder, grinning at how it makes the boy whimper.

“Yes, god, there.”

Theon chuckles and, not wanting to pull out long enough to add lube to a second finger, instead just pours the stuff right onto Robb's arse – it'll be cold but so's the rain, so's Britain – and slides another one through.

Robb mewls again, legs tightening against Theon's chest, and Theon strokes Robb's shin comfortingly at the same time as he's started to grind his cock against the inside of his thigh. “It's alright pet, you're doing fine, I'm not going to hurt you,” he murmurs, not really registering the words he's saying, he's not sure if Robb can even hear them beneath the sound of the rain and the claps of thunder that have started to boom, but he lets out a deep sigh and relaxes back into the dirt as Theon spreads him open.

He's starting to get a bit impatient, but he bites his lip and tells himself to wait, because he's not going to hurt Robb, he promised. Even if he thinks it would be funny if he had to bring Robb to that Paki bitch – sorry, that _Indian_ bitch, because Robb punched him the one time he dared to call her that and sure, Robb's all brotherhood of men of all colours, he'd probably have punched him no matter who he called that, but it's not like Theon doesn't see the way he and that bloody nurse look at each other. The bird's probably only about three years older than them, but Robb wouldn't risk getting her sacked just to fuck her, or at least he'd try not to, and if he was anyone else Theon would tell him to just go for it already, but it's Robb and someone who gets into as many fights as Theon can't really afford to start wanting the nurse dead.

Robb's squirming onto his fingers, keening his hips and letting out breathy little moans, and Theon takes that as all the permission he needs to add a third finger.

The boy cries out again as he does it, digging his nails into Theon's shoulders, and for a second he stops, terrified. “Did I hurt you?” he asks.

Robb shakes his head hurriedly. “Doesn't hurt, feels good, don't stop,” he blathers, and Theon chuckles as he pushes in deeper, twisting and scissoring his fingers to get that hole nice and wet and ready. The boy really is taking to this. Theon knew he would. He's fucking writhing on Theon's fingers now, trying to force them in deeper, and for a second Theon looks up over his shoulder to the edge of the field, where half the school crowded around under their wolf-emblem marked umbrellas to watch head boy Robb Stark, captain of the team Robb Stark, scholarship to Oxford Robb Stark, win their school some new great victory. He wishes they were watching now. He wishes everyone, from the teachers who praise him so highly to the girls from their sister school for fawn and simper after him whenever they visit, could see Robb like this, willing and eager with Theon on top of him, meant to be taken. Meant to be claimed.

Another groan and then Robb is digging his nails into Theon's shoulder again. “Theon, Theon, Theon.”

He's almost annoyed to be dragged out of his reverie. “What?” he almost snaps, but then he worries, and softens. “Is something wrong?”

Robb shakes his head, squirming desperately in his puddle of mud. “I'm ready,” he confesses breathlessly, “I want more, god Theon–”

Theon's given pause for a second, and then he smirks and starts grinding against Robb's thigh harder. “You want my cock Stark?” he asks, watching as a line of precome that glints in the moonlight gets washed away in the rain.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Robb says, eyes closed and sounding like he hasn't a care in the world.

He laughs as he pulls his fingers out and coats his cock instead, lining it up with Robb's entrance. Part of him wants to say something cruel, but no, this is Robb and he has to be careful. “Tart,” he mutters, teasing, gentle, and Robb blushes.

“Shut up, I am not, I've never even–” But then Theon pushes in and the thought flies away, from the looks of it, along with every other thought behind those pretty blue eyes.

He goes slowly, because Robb is a virgin and he's delicate (though he'd punch Theon if he said that out loud, that doesn't make it false), and because he's savouring the moment – the first moment where he gets to really, truly claim Robb for his own; the boy is _his_. Robb gasps, body frozen and curled around Theon's as Theon sinks deeper, relishing how hot it is, how tight, how pure, how unlike the muddy rain around them.

“Oh fuck,” Robb whispers as Theon bottoms out inside him, and it's enough to make him worry again, but not enough to make him show it. He chuckles.

“Still liking it, Stark?”

“Y-yeah.” Robb's voice sounds half fucked out of him. _Half's not enough though._ His legs are still awkwardly squashed against Theon's chest, and Theon wonders if they're going to cramp, but then Robb bends himself further so he can hook them over Theon's shoulders and – oh, that's better. Theon's a bit miffed about that, if he's honest. “G-go on. Do it. Fuck me.”

“Greedy,” Theon says, but if Robb's greedy he's impatient, so he can't resist. Never can. He pulls back slowly, smoothly, nothing like the vicious little bullets of water all around them, and delights in how Robb whimpers as he feels himself emptied. _He's always wanted it._ Theon gives it back to him in one fierce thrust, and Robb cries out, but then he presses his lips against Theon's throat and moans.

“You like that?”

“Yeah,” says Robb as he sucks at Theon's jawline. And so Theon does it again, drives his cock into Robb hard and relentless, setting a pace to match the rain and thunder, to make Robb moan and wail and curse. The boy loves it. His nails dig hard into Theon's shoulders again, almost tearing through his thin school shirt, and he knows there'll be bruises. Good. He loves how Robb blushes when he sees physical proof of just how much he wants it.

Robb is rocking his hips towards Theon's, and Theon reaches down and takes his cock in hand. _I'll make you come all over that nice woollen jersey of yours. Bet the team would like to hear how that happened, huh?_ Robb doesn't think to try and stop him, just whines and bucks his hips up, begging for more of it, and Theon pumps his fist and pushes his cock harder, faster, deeper; he doesn't want to leave a single piece of Robb unmarked.

Those pretty blue eyes close for a moment, and Theon might be annoyed except from the way Robb is mewling and moaning as he does it, he thinks it's a compliment. He looks back to the edge of the field, barely visible in the dark. He wishes everyone was watching. That father Robb looks up to so much. That mother he promises to behave to. That West Country not-quite-girlfriend not-quite-at-home who he doesn't have to feel guilty about not-quite-cheating on, but who he'll probably marry about a week after he graduates this place anyway. He wishes they could all see Robb Stark get fucked in the middle of a field, where anyone could watch him if they wanted. He wishes they all knew how much he loves it.

_Robb's always trying so hard to please everyone,_ Theon tells himself, _but I'm the only one who pleases him._

And that gives him a claim, a better claim on the boy than anyone else has, better than the family whose legacy he was born to further, or the fawning teachers who whisper that he'll be Prime Minister one day, if they don't bring back absolute monarchy just for him, better than the poofters who would try and claim them both as one of their number for this, as if just because that's legal now makes it any less gross. Robb doesn't belong to any of those people. Only Theon. Theon's the only one who could ever do this to him. Theon's the only one who would ever think to ask.

“Theon – I'm going – oh god, I'm going–”

Theon chuckles and picks up the pace. See, he knows just what Robb means. “Come for me then, love, show me how much you like it.” For all they've done together, Robb's still comparatively inexperienced. “Just don't expect me to stop fucking you just because you're finished.”

Robb's breath and his hips hitch up in sync, freezing in mid-air as his cock spurts over the both of them, and he doesn't make a sound. Theon groans as Robb's body sinks into the mud again, and then he pushes himself close, so close he might smother the boy, and drives his cock in balls-deep. _Mine_ , he thinks, two overwhelmed with heat and pleasure to be anymore eloquent, _mine._

But Robb whimpers, and that gives Theon pause. “Am I hurting you?” he gasps out, barely able to speak.

Robb shakes his head. “Not too much,” he says, and Theon wonders what the bloody hell that means, but Robb's heels are digging into his back to pull him closer, and he's grabbing Theon's hair so he can kiss him again, and Theon knows he can't resist.

Maybe Robb _likes_ being hurt.

Theon moans as he sucks on Robb's lower lip, hard enough to bruise it, as he fucks Robb hard and steady, like the beat of a drum, a beat you could march to war by. He's half-pleased, half-sickened by Robb's little mixed up whimpers of pleasure and pain, but Theon needs to come too much to worry about it right now. Robb's tight and hot and gasps every time Theon thrusts into him, and it doesn't take Theon much until he creams the boy, hard, but it's oddly anticlimactic once Robb's already done it. He wonders why he's never been able to time that quite right, so they can come together.

His body goes lax as the last little sperms swim out of him, looking for a hospitable climate that alas, they will not find, and Theon almost collapses into the mud himself – but then he remembers Robb is still beneath him, and he should probably try not to crush the boy. When he looks Robb in the eye, the boy is blushing again. The rain is easing off.

“I can't believe I let you do that to me,” Robb says.

Theon laughs. “I can.” Robb rolls his eyes and slaps his arm teasingly. He's not sure Robb should use the past tense there, since he hasn't pulled out yet, but he does so quickly and sits up, fastening his slacks. He squirms as he realises he's sitting in cold, wet mud, which is a lot harder to ignore when you haven't got the promise of an orgasm distracting you from it.

Robb has to stand to pull his white rugby shorts back up, flinching as they close cold and wet around his naked genitals. _Serves you right, slag,_ Theon thinks but he bites his tongue. Robb looks back and forth between the two of them, and gives a resigned sigh. “We're filthy.”

Theon laughs and shrugs, then looks up at the night sky, blanketed with cloud. If he went to English class more often he'd think it's all a metaphor for something. But he usually skips that to go see if he can finger the schoolgirls on their grounds, or at least touch their tits, so he doesn't.

This changes nothing. Like all the times Robb's woken him up with a blowjob and then laughed as he brushed his teeth, saying it's the only way to get up out of bed in time for morning prayers, those changed nothing. This is normal – they're a couple of public schoolboys, this is a horrible cliché, but that same English teacher whose classes he doesn't attend would say, clichés are cliché for a reason. But they're going to graduate someday, some day soon, less than a year now. Then Robb'll go to Oxford, marry that West Country girl and probably end up shagging the school nurse once he's graduated, and be Prime Minister. And Theon, Theon'll do something, some university not as good as Oxford will take him in because of daddy's money, and if he's lucky the Sun will someday run a photo of him with cocaine and the expensive sort of prostitute.

“Come on.” Robb offers Theon a hand to help him to his feet, and Theon takes it, even though really it's Robb who should need help walking. “The gym's empty, we can take a shower. Then lets go home.”

Their room, with scratchy blankets and drafty windows, isn't much of a home. But it's a roof over their heads, it keeps the rain out. Close enough.

 


End file.
